Daughter, with snow crunching in
frozen slide-causing patches
beneath enough of our tires
to make these often-traveled miles
a new adventure, hearing you
voice your common car concerns —
Juice, Dolly, Mittens On —
I know I’m not entitled to fear:
not this snowfall I should have heeded,
not burglars, not tuition savings,
not the already-imagined first date
where I appallingly intrude
and frighten some fourteen-year-old
boy away, or where I appallingly
don’t. Right now, all I want is
to have you safely at home, but
suddenly I can’t define "safe."
With snow like hyperspace
assaulting the warmed and earnest wipers
I unclench enough to ask myself:
When everything is fearable, but
nothing avoidable, what is there
to do but grip the wheel tighter?
Tighter, my child, but not too tight.
There are fears I know I’ll never lose.

This poem first appeared in Paterson Literary Review.
Used here with the author’s permission.